Show Business Book Excerpt 22: Trusting the Unknown

As much as we try to be prepared for whatever may come our way in life, there inevitably comes a time when we are forced to improvise and trust that the right ideas, creative solutions, and actions will arrive at precisely the moment we need them. As you’ll read below, dancing with the party entertainment company Celebration Magnifico was great training in spontaneous creativity. We were regularly beset with “Holy Cow! What on earth do I do now?” moments. You, too, may find yourself facing The Great Unknown. But never fear, the Universe is here, ready to astonish and delight you with moves to beat the band. It sure surprised me.

Enjoy the next excerpt from

Long Legs and Tall Tales: A Showgirl’s Wacky, Sexy Journey to the Playboy Mansion and the Radio City Rockettes

by Kristi Lynn Davis

If you were savvy enough to survive the backstage soap opera, your next challenge was to survive on the dance floor. The first task was learning and executing the dance number that started each set. Most of the real dance numbers we performed were taught and rehearsed only a half-hour before we were supposed to get into costume. The owners didn’t want to pay for extra rehearsal time, so we had to pick up choreography fast and furiously and fake the parts we didn’t know. It was mayhem.

The rehearsal scene on stage would go something like this: The choreographer would bark out orders. “Okay, we don’t have a lot of time people, so listen up! Half of you pony stage left, half stage right and then get into one straight, vertical line. Step-touch and clap moving downstage. As you get to the front, do some kind of trick, turn, kick, or jump, or something. Then peel off, every other person stage left and right. Form into a clump in the back. When everyone gets there, take three different poses and freeze in between each one.” We’d all try to run through the choreographer’s instructions as quickly as possible, like a movie played on fast forward.

We’d get about half way through a number and Bart, the boss, would come running in shouting frantically and waving his arms, “Stop! Stop! Stop! The guests are coming in for cocktails. Everybody in the dressing room and get your costumes on NOW!” The choreographer would throw her hands up in the air in surrender and say, “Obviously, we didn’t finish the choreography, so when we perform the number on stage, just try to follow what I’m doing. And watch for my signal about when to take a group pose at the end!”

There was no point in getting all worked up over the fact that we had only practiced half of the dance. After a while, we all learned to shrug our shoulders and laugh. “Whatever.” Somehow we always pulled if off. It’s amazing what we could do with great stage presence and crazy garments. We were so entertaining that the crowd never knew, or cared, that we were making much of it up as we went along.

It was a bit trickier when you were assigned a lead role like Christine from the Phantom of the Opera, which required you to do an adage—a slow, balletic, partner dance—with the Phantom. You were expected to figure out your own choreography. If time permitted before the party started, you’d discuss or experiment with a few “lifts,” where the guy picks the girl up over his head in some dramatic pose. Usually, there wasn’t time, so you’d improvise on the spot, even whispering in each others’ ears about what to do next during the actual performance: “Run to me and grab my waist and I’ll twirl you!” The entire performance was an exciting adventure into the unknown. It was all about focusing on your partner, maintaining intense eye contact, and sensing each other’s movements in order to know what to do and where to go next. You really had to tune into and play off each other.

In some form or another, the Phantom would mesmerize his muse, Christine, with enchanting hand movements and a powerful “whoosh” of his mysterious cape. A tug-of-war would ensue with the Phantom and Christine embracing and pulling away from each other, lifting and lowering, twirling and standing in awkward stillness. Tormented and torn, but exhausted and weak, Christine would finally succumb to his spell, the Phantom enveloping her in a passionate kiss beneath his cape. The crowd would cheer and even the dancers would be amazed at what they were able to create in the moment.

Of course, unrehearsed dances like these were just invitations for mishaps—like the time one girl playing Christine spun wildly into a waiter carrying a tray of wine glasses. It’s hard to resume the melodrama with a straight face when you’ve just taken out a staff member and showered the floor in alcohol and broken glass. But, honestly, some people got so good at improvising that you’d think they’d been performing the number for years. The company really relied on the talent and improv skills of each dancer. I was always flabbergasted by how we could spontaneously create such a spectacular show.

Dancing for Celebration Magnifico turned out to be great training in trusting your creative instincts, being in the moment, improvising, and becoming comfortable with the unknown. If you were terrified of what might go wrong, not knowing how the dance was going to unfold, or not being able to pre-plan your moves, you were sunk and had better quit the job or up your intake of anti-anxiety meds. Even though the performance part of the gig was often a high-pressure, chaotic, wing-it situation, I generally found it liberating and fun.

It was the second part of the gig—dancing with patrons—that didn’t always jive with me. Being naturally shy, I hated having to ask people to dance. Whenever possible, I’d try to hide in the middle of the crowded dance floor and pretend I had a partner. I didn’t get away with this for long, however, because Bart watched us like a hawk, always scoping the room to make sure we were paired up. I didn’t want to ruffle his feathers.

At some parties it was nearly impossible to get people to dance with you—especially the corporate gigs with employees with really boring jobs. I’d begrudgingly bounce over to a table and tap on the shoulder of some random guy in a suit and tie. Plastering on my best fake smile, I’d shout over the music, “Would you like to dance?” He’d glance up from his half-consumed chicken breast and, without so much as a grin, say, “No.” At the really miserable parties, you’d have to take rejection after rejection before you could successfully coerce someone into dancing with you. Eventually you had to get aggressive and grab their arms and yank them out of their chairs as they clung onto the tablecloth in a desperate attempt to remain seated.

A top Celebration Magnifico priority was that all the “important people” get invited to dance whether they wanted to or not. At a wedding, I was once sent on a mission to get the bride’s stodgy uncle to boogie with me, only to receive the angry response, “I’m eating!” It was a challenge to please the boss without ticking off the partygoers.

I learned to scope the tables and use my intuition to determine who would be less likely to reject me. To make the process more fun, sometimes we held a contest to see who could be the first to get the cute guys to dance. The risk of choosing a hot babe was getting the look of death or verbal lashings if he had a jealous girlfriend sitting next to him. I danced with old men, young men, women, kids, teens, octogenarian grandmas—you name it.  Anyone was fair game.

While certain aspects of the job were quite unpleasant—including harsh rejections, drunk ladies stabbing your feet with their spiked heels, and creepy guys getting fresh—letting loose and uninhibitedly dancing my heart out was cathartic and enjoyable. We were expected to put on a show and be entertaining, so the wilder the better.

On occasion, one of the male dancers would get a burst of adrenaline (or maybe he was just losing his mind) and go off into some spastic routine like kicking over his head, quintuple pirouette, jump split to the floor, and break dance. The rest of us would clap and hoot and holler at the frantic one-man-show. Unfortunately, these high-speed dance extravaganzas didn’t happen often, because it was hard enough making it through the night on low to medium-speed. Most of the time, everyone was just too jaded and tired to go the extra mile. In fact, sometimes we were so exhausted at the end of the night, we’d just do energetic armography and faceography (enthusiastic arm gestures and facial expressions) while basically keeping our feet still to conserve energy.

By far the best part of the job, to me anyway, was traveling out of New York. We flew to Indianapolis, Atlantic City, Las Vegas, Palm Desert, Chicago, Baltimore, and Beverly Hills. Our time was usually so limited that we didn’t get to see much of any one city, but I took my trips as an opportunity to pamper myself and at least enjoy lounging in the hotel.

To begin my hotel experience, I would check the room service menu for the price of hot chocolate and count how many different toiletries were provided in the bathroom. A high cost of hot chocolate and a high number of toiletries were sure signs of a high-quality hotel. I liked to order hot chocolate from room service while snuggled in one of the crisp, white terrycloth robes that every high-quality hotel provided. Sometimes I treated myself to an Amaretto from the mini-bar and a soak in the bath. I’d work out in the gym, tan by the pool, relax in the jacuzzi, or shop.

I especially loved our trips to the west coast; trading the gray, cement city for palm trees and sun was pure heaven. One of my favorite journeys was to Palm Desert, California, an oasis of golf courses and spas built in the middle of the desert overlooking the mountains. We stayed at the mega Palm Desert Marriott where you could actually catch little boats from the inside of the hotel and sail to various restaurants and shops, the golf course, or the spa. Most of the time I would try to save as much per diem as possible hoping we ‘d get free food at the party, but sometimes it just felt good to splurge. This was one of those times; I paid the $25.00 a day to use the spa and gym, shopped at the expensive boutiques, and dined on a gourmet dinner, spending every last cent of my per diem. I was living the dream!

Another time we stayed at the Four Seasons Beverly Hills, where I adored the complimentary Earl Grey tea with cream and honey. About twenty-five of us dancers were flown all the way across the country for a bar mitzvah, of all things. Rumors were that each dancer cost the client between $1500 and $2500 (Of which we only got $200, but let’s not go there!). Couple that with our hotel rooms, per diem, and flights, and you are looking at a very expensive party for a thirteen-year-old. This bar mitzvah was more lavish than most weddings I’ve seen.

To impress the Los Angelenos, Bart played us up as Broadway performers: “Live from New York City…Celebration Magnifico!” We entered in white top hats and sexy, white tuxedo-style outfits to Frank Sinatra’s famous tune, “New York, New York.” We got the crowd to sing the song with us and then join us in the “world’s longest kick line” for the grand finale.

The entire dance floor was covered in row after row of partiers and dancers linked arm and arm, raucously singing off key and kicking off beat. Just when it seemed the mood couldn’t possibly get any more exciting, we passed out neon glow-stick necklaces, and the party reached a frenzied climax with rich people falling over each other to obtain the free swag. This was one religious initiation ritual they’d never forget.

Even the best Girl Scout in the world can’t be prepared for all life’s twists and turns. Sometimes you just have to wing it. And winging it may just turn out to be some of the best fun you’ve ever had. Thanks for reading.

Wing, twist, and turn on,

Kristi